i’ve figured out that i have a caffeine addiction. it’s pretty serious and i am considering going to rehab. so if you don’t hear from me for a few months, you know why. it all started yesterday afternoon with an eye and ear and head splitting headache, and after three doses of tylenol and a terrible night’s sleep, it all came to an end this morning after my glorious, not having had in two days, yumm-o-licious cup (or two) of headache eraser. finally relief (sigh). i’ve called the doctor and will probably be admitted tomorrow morning into the self-help program for caffeine addicts.
well, maybe i’ll start in a few days….
In an parallel life, I live on a farm, have chickens and want to roast one for dinner. So I chase it around the coop, my hair flying behind me, along with my skirts and aprons. I finally catch it and WHACK! Being the expert farm girl, I easily remove its feathers and innards (not sure what they are called here in this life) and viola it’s ready for the kitchen.
Now, here I stand in my reality kitchen with this chicken I’ve just removed from the bag. My recipe calls for rubbing olive oil, garlic, lemon and rosemary under its skin, to loosen it all I have to do is slide my hand “up in there.” O.K. here I go. It feels slimy.
Surprisingly, I find comfort in this way of cooking from which I seem to have drifted. I’d bet that the majority of my friends have not been this intimate with a chicken before. I feel connected to this bird, that was once alive and gave it’s life to feed my family.
I feel proud about this chicken, whom I developed a relationship with. I fininsh lathering more seasoning over her back, breats and legs, tie her up and roast her in the oven for a few hours.
When she is done, she is the most beautiful looking thing I have ever cooked and tastes just as good.
I put my bestest powers on you so you’re the wonderfullest mommy.
We walk in for the orientation, excited to meet the new teacher. I glance around the room and like what I see, lots of books and colorful pictures on the wall and cute, little activity centers.
In my peripheral vision, I see the teacher approaching and turn to greet him. He saunters over, looking just like a he just stepped out of a 1970’s porn. I see my reflection in his Erik Estrada sunglasses (why is he wearing them inside?) as he pulls up his too tight pants and adjusts himself.
Wanting to do nothing more than disappear from this room and protect my child, I introduce myself instead. My husband and I have agreed on this public school thing so I can’t back out now. He stops, looks down toward my daughter and asks her her name. She buries her face into me as my arm is protectively around her shoulders.
He says, while his hand is over-adjusting his crotch “They’re always shy at first, but don’t worry, I’m sure we’re gonna have a great time this year, if you know what I mean (wink, wink).”
OMG, OMG, OMG, I scream and run.
Then…..I wake up.